


And When You Sleep, Dream of Me

by relic_amaranth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Nightmares, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 05:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Sleeping isn’t new to Gabriel. However these nightmares are. He doesn’t like to make a habit of asking for help, though, so he decides to go on in the time-honored tradition of human coping mechanisms and just pretend it isn’t happening. However your solution may be better. For the both of you.





	And When You Sleep, Dream of Me

**Author's Note:**

> This one will be easy, I told myself. Quick. Hahaha, joke’s on me; I rewrote this fucker three times. I like it though, and hope you enjoy it too. Super fluffy Gabriel/Reader is a go. I think I have another short thing in the same vein. Basically I am all about ‘Give Gabriel a hug 2k∞’.

 

Gabriel tries to saunter but his steps are tired; too heavy. He’s exhausted but trying to stay as far away from sleep as he can get.

_Fire. Trapped; too hot, too close, it wants him, he’s going to burn, he–_

A sharp whimper makes him stop. He waits but he doesn’t hear anything else, so he walks, cautious and quiet, until he’s close enough to the library to peer in.

You’re in a chair, sleeping on your crossed arms, with a stack of unopened books just in front of you. Only one book is open and it’s been shoved so far to the side that it’s next to your elbow and balancing precariously on the edge of the table. Gabriel watches for a few moments, just taking in the silence surrounding the light ticking of a distant clock and your steady, deep breathing.

_“You would betray us? For **them**?!” the Raphael of his dreams roars, human face bleeding into his true one, unholy and savage in a way that feels too close._

“In a second,” Gabriel says quietly to himself, watching your body shift with every breath.

Then the pattern changes, like you’re about to wake, and you move. Unfortunately, the slide of your arm hits the one book off the table and it crashes noisily to the ground, which makes you jerk up and jut your hands out, causing the small tower to fall over, which makes you shove back from the table entirely, and the chair tilts back dangerously.

Gabriel is there to catch you and he stifles laughter _most_ admirably. Up until the point where you lean your head back and blink at him like an adorably confused owlet.

He _loses_ it; he laughs so hard his abs hurt like he’s doing actual exercise (it’s probably more movement than they have ever had, if he’s being honest) and when he finally calms down enough to wipe a tear from his eye, you’re scowling at him.

“Gabriel,” you say in warning, though he can _clearly_ see you twitch in effort not to smile.

He puts his hands up, unable to stop grinning– especially when you break. He’s always loved the sight of your smile and it doesn’t happen near enough, these days.

“It wasn’t me; honest,” he says and puts his hands up defensively. “And while I have set up some astounding Rube Goldberg machinations before, _that_ was a natural masterpiece. Do you need a replay? I think we need a replay.” He snaps and doesn’t even bother imitating a natural movie situation; just summons a screen in midair and then you both are watching the previous event through Gabriel’s perspective. At the end of it you let out a startled laugh and clamp down on it as soon as you realize your folly. Not quick enough, but it’s a good effort.

“I’m going to watch that forever. Do you want a copy?” he waves a DVD case around. “I think I need an actual copy. Will you do an interview for the extras?” But you’re not smiling at his (ingenious) case art. You’re looking him over. He decides to cut this off at the pass. “Maybe you should go to sleep in an actual bed, sugar. Less distraction.”

“Maybe,” you say, your expression kind, patient–

_–twisted; screaming while they tear you apar–_

Gabriel jerks back and your smile is gone, replaced with a frown and creased forehead. “Gabriel?” you ask. “What are you doing up?”

“I just went for a walk while it’s quiet,” he says. “Why are you sleeping in the library?” He wants to make a joke, but everything that comes to mind would cut too sharp, so he bites his tongue.

“I didn’t want to sleep at all,” you say easily, but he notices how you look away from him as you stretch. “Nightmares. They’re…annoying.”

Gabriel snorts and says, “That’s one way of putting it.” He realizes too late (of _course_ ) what he just admitted to, and he clamps his mouth shut.

“Hm,” is all you say, and you nod. “Angels don’t dream, do they?”

“Angels don’t _sleep_ ,” Gabriel says, dropping the masquerade and running a hand over his face and through his hair, mussing it up. “We can fake it well enough if we have to, but our brains– if you can call ‘em that– don’t work like humans. So dreaming doesn’t do anything for us.”

You nod and the lack of judgment, of pity, of anything but casual curiosity and acceptance, puts him at ease. “Angel dreams must be intense.”

_–blood blood blood and he wishes it was his–_

“I guess. Though…” Gabriel’s lips curl into a smirk that hurts. “You could argue I haven’t been one in a long time.”

You frown to one side. “You are what you are. The only opinion that matters on that is your own.”

Stuck in this weird valley between being the antithesis of human and showing signs of it regardless, he wishes it was that easy. You seem to get it too, by the way you wince and shift. The silence is awkward but Gabriel prefers it to a swirling storm of terror and pain, so it’s still better than sleep. Besides– awkward silence is funny. Humans can never just be _quiet_.

“I’ve got a good cure for nightmares,” you say suddenly. “If you’re interested. It’s a little weird but I swear it works.”

“You had me at ‘weird,’” Gabriel says and is gratified by the return of your smile.

“Lay down with me,” you say. You add, “it’s _not_ sexual,” with a sharp glare that stays as you go on (very, very, _very_ casually), “It’s comforting. I’ve done it with Sam a few times and–”

“ _What_?!”

The vehemence with which that word is said shocks the _both_ of you. You raise a single eyebrow. “Relax. Like I said: totally not sexual. Sam and I both have nightmares and he’s nice to cuddle with. That’s all.”

Gabriel suddenly has a to-do list and items one through thirty-seven consist of ‘Throw Sam into Eileen so hard they can’t untangle themselves for at least a decade.’ It’s not a terrible idea– except Eileen would murder him for putting her out of commission for something Sam did. And Gabriel would deserve it. Rats.

“You don’t have to,” you say and he has to remember what you were saying before, and– right. You were inviting him into bed. No big deal. Super cas.

_Right_.

“Sounds fun,” he says and winks. “But when do we find time to sleep?”

You give him a stern look that is completely undermined by your smile. “Keep up with that and I’ll build a wall of pillows. Now come on; we can still catch a few hours.”

You grab his hand to lead him along, and Gabriel lets himself be pulled. Your hand is so warm. It’s not that he’s cold, it’s just that life– real, actual, soul-fueled life– has a different feel to it than just about anything else. He’s been cold, been deprived for what feels like so long, he could soak up this moment forever.

“Here. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s pretty comfortable,” you say and let go of him to walk around the bed.

You slip in on your side and it takes him a moment to follow suit. Once he’s lying down he takes a moment to breathe– the light is off and he expects to see fire at any moment now– but there you are, your front facing his and your arm draped over his side. “If this isn’t okay, tell me. I’ll back off.”

“Sugar, this is more than okay,” Gabriel says and chuckles.

Silence. Then: “oh,” and your smile is small, a little shy.

But wait, how can he even see it in the–

“You have _nightlights_?”

You huff and scowl. “Sorry, you’re right, why would I ever need them with _all of this natural light_? I’m not a fucking Hobbit; I wasn’t made for this.”

“It’s okay. It’s cute,” he says, smiling wide.

“I’m telling you, I only need to break my toe once.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

Gabriel snickers but they fade out because that is the issue, isn’t it? You press yourself closer and hold him. “It’s all right,” you murmur. “It’s my turn to protect you now.”

Gabriel snorts. “In your dreams.”

“That’s the idea.”

Gabriel would rather stay awake, hold you in the dark and soak this in, but he’s so tired. And…maybe there’s something to this idea. He manipulates reality on the regular; dreams should be a piece of cake.

“If you do dream of me, though, you better remember what a fucking badass I am.”

Gabriel does. And it’s unnerving and frightening at first, to see you in this place he doesn’t understand and can’t quite yet control, but then he thinks of you as you are to your enemies– wicked, clever, and unrelenting. Then he thinks of his brothers as they always have been– unchanging, dismissive, and foolish. And there’s no contest after that. And if the rest of the scenario is decidedly…cuddlier…well, no one else has to know.

Sweet dreams indeed.


End file.
